


dear, but my eyes will see only you

by Edgebug



Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: Fluff without Plot, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Marty, honestly," he huffs out on a laugh, and Marty gives a lopsided grin.</p><p>"Will you, though?"</p><p>(In which Marty asks Doc to prom.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	dear, but my eyes will see only you

**Author's Note:**

> probably the sappiest and most pointless thing i have ever written. i am so sorry  
> edit: fixed a missing part of a sentence??? how did that happen

 

The question comes out of the blue, spoken into the pleasant quiet between them, blurted out as soon as it enters Marty's head.

"Will you go to prom with me?"

Marty's using Doc as a mattress, arms folded neatly high on Doc's chest, his chin resting on his hands. He's comfortable and warm beneath the thick covers and on top of his boyfriend, and he couldn't be happier. It's a twin bed and it's not really big enough for the both of them, but Marty's small enough so that it sort of works nonetheless, even when side-by-side. The window's open, letting in the cool night air, a lovely contrast to the warmth between them.

Doc fixes him with that owlish, questioning stare of his for a moment before his face breaks into a smile, all sweet laugh-lines and crow's feet. "Marty, _honestly_ ," he huffs out on a laugh, and Marty gives a lopsided grin.

" _Will_ you, though?"

"While I'd love to, you know I _can't_ ," Doc says, a big hand smoothing up the small of Marty's back, affectionately, rucking up his t-shirt in the process. "You can't take an old man as your date to prom."

Even though Marty knows he can't, _knew_ he couldn't when he asked, the hard truth of it spoken so plainly is still like a knife between his ribs. He sighs. "You don't think they'll overlook it for the dashing inventor of time travel?"

"I don't think so, no, school officials tend to be rather uncharitable when it comes to situations like ours."

"There _are_ no situations like ours." Marty sighs deeper and flops back down, unfolding his arms so that he can better nuzzle up into the crook of Doc's neck and shoulder. "You could totally take Strickland down in a fight if he gave us any shit."

Doc laughs again. "My reputation around town is questionable enough. Showing up to senior prom--as a student's _date_ , no less!--and getting into a fistfight with the vice-principal would destroy it beyond repair." A pause. "It'd be fun as hell, though."

"So you won't go to prom with me?" Marty asks on a theatrical sigh.

"Trust me, Marty," he replies, with utmost sincerity, "if I were eighteen years old, I would leap at the chance."

"I know you would, Doc."

 

-

 

He's got to get Doc to that damn dance, one way or the other. Marty considers a lot of options.

"How about we just screw the consequences and go? Just show up?" he asks the next morning. "And then afterward we can get in the DeLorean, go back, and stop ourselves from going? All the fun memories and no trouble at all!"

"Marty," Doc says severely, "that would cause a paradox of the highest caliber, and we are _not_ going to endanger the _very fabric of the universe_ just so I can be your date to prom in an alternate timeline!"

"Aw, c'mon!"

He's determined to figure out a way to pull it off. It might be a little unconventional, but Marty's really,  _really_ used to "unconventional" by now, and he's nothing if not determined.

-

"Girls keep asking me to prom!" Marty loudly complains the second he bursts through the door to Doc's garage. Doc briefly looks up from what he was working on--the same thing he's been working on for a week, a little gadget about the size of a large pocket watch that is supposed to do 'something really spectacular' but so far hasn't done much more than throw off sparks--before returning to it.

"Quite the problem to have," Doc says, clearly amused. "You left your wallet here this morning, by the way."

"Yeah, I know, I'm here to get it--and _quit_ _laughing_ , it's not funny, Doc! I've got nothing to tell 'em other than that I'm going stag! And then they look at me like I just hit their dog with my car! _Deliberately!"_ He throws his hands up in frustration for a second before he walks over to one of Doc's many tables to grab his wallet.

"Why not just go with Jennifer? I'm sure she'd be your platonic date-slash-human shield from other hopeful paramours."

"She's already going with Tiff Tannen. I mean, on the down low, of course, but that's what's going on. And she's dealing with guys flocking to her too," Marty says. "No human shield available for me. At least Tiff is there to beat the crap out of any guy who gives Jen too much trouble." A pause. Marty frowns. "It's a good thing I was already asked out by my own mom once, you know that?"

"Now _there's_ a series of words I never expected to hear," Doc says thoughtfully, pausing.

"Because I've already gone through the most _freakin' horrible worst-case scenario imaginable_ ," Marty continues, shoving the wallet in his pocket with one hand and gesturing vaguely with the other, "dealing with all these girls asking me out seems like a breeze in comparison."

"Of course," Doc says, "perfectly understandable."

"At least prom's tomorrow. No more chances for me to get mobbed."  Marty walks over to Doc, leaning up on his tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek before heading back for the door. "Can't stick around tonight, 'm sorry, I've got stuff to do." He pauses in the doorway. "Hey, come to the school tomorrow? The roof. Around midnight."

Doc gives that owlish blink again, brow furrowing. "Marty, what are you--"

"Shhh!" Marty holds up his hand. "Shhh, just trust me! Tell me you'll be there."

"Of course I trust you," Doc says without a second thought. "And yes, my dear, I'll be there for whatever mischief you're planning."

Marty grins and blows him a kiss before he ducks out the door. He's got a plan to execute in pretty short order.

-

It's midnight and prom is still going, though winding down, and Marty's standing on the roof with a boom box and a boutonnière in his hand. He's got the boom box wired into the gym speaker system below, which was probably the hardest part of this whole operation--wrangling cords and extension cords so long is hard, and sneaking past the bustling techies to wire in his boom box is even harder.

He can't take Doc to prom down in the gym but Jesus Christ, he can do this. He'd rather be up here anyway, in the cool May air rather than the stuffy heat of the overcrowded high school gym. Tuxedos are pretty damn warm. Still, Marty's oddly nervous. Is this stupid? Maybe. Ridiculous? Absolutely. Unnecessary? Arguable.

It's exactly 12:02 when the roof door opens and Doc (he made good time, having to sneak through the school and past all the prom-goers) steps out; Marty watches his eyes scan the roof and light up the second he sees Marty. Marty grins and Doc smiles back, eyes filled with questioning. "Marty, what is this?"

Marty bounds over and bars the door so they won't be interrupted, then reaches up to pin the boutonnière onto Doc's coat lapel. "I _told_ you you were my prom date," Marty says, "so here we are. At prom."

"I'm afraid I'm sorely underdressed," Doc says, sounding genuinely apologetic as he takes in Marty's tux; he's wearing a Hawaiian shirt with flowers all over it and his dark, dark green long coat over the top.

He looks like Doc. He looks perfect.

"You're dressed exactly right, Doc," Marty assures him, meaning every word, "now are you gonna ask me to dance or am I gonna have to go down into the gym and get wasted on spiked punch?"

Doc looks at Marty like he's the sun and stars, all adoration and wonder, pausing a moment as if to collect himself before holding out his hand. "May I have this dance, Mr. McFly?"

"Hell yeah," Marty replies, and Doc scoops him close, one hand at his waist and the other taking Marty's right. Marty's other arm wraps around Doc, hand alighting on his back; his head rests just barely against Doc's shoulder. The boom box is softly playing some slow, instrumental thing, and they easily sway together to the easy beat.

It's romantic, and ludicrous, and Marty's so goddamn glad he pulled this off. Making sure that amorous teenagers would stay off the roof tonight had been quite the task, but worth it in the end.

"I never went to school social gatherings like this. I just stayed back home, worked on some experiment or other," Doc murmurs. "I was never asked."

"So how do you like it?"

"Very much. Great Scott, what did I ever do to deserve you?" He sounds awestruck, smitten, and Jesus Christ, Marty's so in love it hurts.

They dance until the music dies and then they dance longer because Marty thinks ahead and has brought a mix tape, and it's 1:30 before they get home, and it's the best goddamn prom Marty could have hoped for.

-

The next day he sees the rose boutonnière he gave Doc sitting, carefully placed in a plastic box, in the back of the fridge, and he feels warm.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm writing more for these two dorks. the next offering will be longer and probably have an actual plot


End file.
